Wishing You Were Somehow Near
by Dawn Moon
Summary: Christine makes a promise to Erik and endevors to see it kept. But will Raoul ever concede to defeat? Rating will change for future chapters.
1. Dreams Deferred

Authoress' Notes: Okay, you know the drill. Monsieur Gaston Leroux owns ALL the characters, and some text from The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. I own a grand total of...NOTHING! Just the plot, of course. But enough of my blathering, enjoy!

(((*))) = flashbacks

(sentence) = thoughts

--

Wishing You Were Somehow Near

Chapter One: Dreams Deferred

--

__

Paris, 1882

"You what?" Christine Daae's pretty mouth hung wide open in absolute shock. Did he just say what she thought he had?

"I have booked passage on a ship that will take us to London. We will start afresh over there Christine. Just you and me and a bright future." Raoul de Changy smiled and, in two strides, pulled her into an embrace.

Obviously he did. 

It had been two full nights since their escape, or rather their release from the lair of the Phantom. It seemed Raoul was too anxious to tie off loose ends. Christine's stomach clenched against her ribs and she almost shoved him away, his possessive affections completely unneeded and unwanted. Trying to appear docile, she forced a half smile. "I don't know Raoul. I mean, a vacation would be lovely, but..."

She was interrupted by Raoul's boisterous laughter. "Vacation? No, no my love. I mean to be there _permanently_. There, we can find peace. There won't be any horrid memories or haunted pasts or..."

"Erik..." This time, Raoul found himself cut off by her small whisper. Not quite sure of what he'd heard, he fixed her with a disapproving stare.

"What was that Christine?"

Christine's eyes went wide at the sudden chill she heard in his question. She gulped and tried to look confidently into his face, but failed miserably. "Wha...I...I said 'Erik'. I was merely adding to your statement of what will not be in London," which was true.

"Then we agree," said Raoul, suddenly beaming. "We shall depart tomorrow."

"No!" she suddenly shouted, earning a surprised look from Raoul. She bit her tongue and cursed herself for the outburst. But she couldn't help it. The thought of being so far away from Erik, the thought of being away from Erik at all, inspired her with terror. "I...I don't want to leave Paris, Raoul. All my friends are here, and the opera. Raoul, music is my life!" she insisted. Wisely though, she had not told him of her true reason for her insistence that they remain in Paris.

She remembered now, as clear as ever, the promise she had made...

(((*)))

"You try my patience! Make your choice!"

The stern, terrible, beautiful voice rang throughout the cellars of the Opera House. In the deep belly of the fifth cellar stood the lair of the Phantom of the Opera. Christine stood stock still, her green eyes darting between the two men flanking her. To her right, Raoul struggled to loosen the lasso coiled about his neck. To her left, Erik towered over her, his arms folded over his great chest, awaiting her decision.

Her decision. What a strange situation this was. Erik, threatening to garrote Raoul if she did not choose him, yet saying it was her choice. It seemed to be a no win situation. If she stayed with Erik, which was her first impulse, Raoul would kill himself, or come back to kill Erik. Yet, if she chose Raoul, he would die anyway. She couldn't live with anyone's blood staining her hands. What to do?

(Why are you debating?) Her inner voice whispered. (You love Erik.)

A wave of emotions pulsed through her as she considered this. True, she loved Erik. She always had, ever since the first day she had heard him speak to her. At first it had been a mysterious sort of fascination, for she hadn't seen him yet. He was just a beautiful voice within the walls, her guardian Angel and dearest friend. Then, the day Raoul had visited her, she finally saw the form of her Angel behind the mirror. He became a living being to her, yet no less mysterious than before. She truly fell in love with him when he brought her to his home and sang to her of the music of the night, of his desire for her to be with him for always.

Then, she nearly wept at the memory. Then, she had betrayed him shamefully. She tore his mask, his only protection from pain, away from his face. Thinking on the despair and anger twisting his voice and the shameful way she'd flown to Raoul behind his back forced a few tears from her eyes, the only signs of her inner torment as yet. 

Coming from her reverie, she glanced feverishly between the two again. Raoul, still struggling against the lasso, bore a look of fiery hatred and intense loathing at Erik, whose back was turned. As she looked at his tall form, she perceived that his shoulders were trembling, as if with suppressed sobs. Taking a tiny step closer, she saw that he was definitely trembling. 

Sensing her drawing nearer, he turned his head slightly, revealing the glistening trails that flowed over his deformity. In his eyes there seemed to be liquid flames from the rows of candelabrums. It nearly undid her as the dancing light cast strange shadows over his ruined right cheek, and she remembered how fluidly she had fallen in love with him again. In the months she'd been away from him, she was never for one moment truly happy. She'd even found herself trying to get past Raoul's stifling affections to return to him, to run to him and tell him that she was wrong, that she had learned to forget his face, and see, as he had begged her, the man behind the monster.

Monster. What a horrible word! What a heartless, wicked, stupid adjective! It assailed her ears whenever she was with Raoul. Every time he used that word pertaining to Erik, she nearly found herself shouting at him. For she knew Erik was not a monster. A murderer? Yes. A madman? Undoubtedly. But he loved her, and evil cannot love. 

("I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion!")

Like a stab wound, Raoul's words came to her again, making her cringe. How could she have fallen for such bravado? She was overjoyed it was true when he visited her in her dressing room after all those years. She remembered in an instant all the joys they'd shared with her dear father. Now that she was in contemplation, she searched for the reason that she had flown to the boy in the first place. 

When they were children, they were closer than cousins, and Raoul always seemed an older brother to her if not a friend. Up on the roof, she had seen the older brother figure in him again and turned to him for comfort. But he took advantage of this vulnerability and used it not to console her in her fear, but to sway her from her dear, tortured Angel. And she, naïve in her innocence, had bought it. She had seen later, during the months she was away from Erik, that he seemed to take their engagement as revenge on his rival. If anyone was a seducer, it was the man who was now strung up like a convict. How dare he speak of compassion! He, who had willingly placed her as a pawn, as bait to trap the masked madman, dared to speak of all he "did" for her! And on the stage, when she, forgetting who and where she was, had removed his mask, Raoul had not hesitated to signal the marksmen, even though she was also in range of the bullets. If not for their disappearance, neither she nor Erik might have stepped away alive. Madman or no, it was Erik who "did it all" for her.

Her mind made up and deliberation restored, she straightened her shoulders and glided towards her troubled Angel, her bridal finery he had given her rustling about her. Unafraid and filled with love, she firmly, yet gently, placed her hand on his shoulder. Erik, genuinely surprised, turned fully to face her. His look of surprise heightened when he saw she didn't flinch or pale. The stricken expression on his poor face was enough to make the rest of the tears overflow from her already flooded eyes. Raising a hand to caress his ravaged skin, she gave him the best answer she could. She sang to him.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God gave me courage to show you, you are not alone."

As she made an end to these words, she was overcome with love and pressed herself into his arms, kissing him fully and lovingly. She felt a tremor pass through him and felt his trembling hands flutter on her waist. Pressing herself ever nearer, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He nearly lifted her from the ground as he deepened the kiss, his tongue probing and exploring with no restraint. One sensual hand swept up her body to rest on one full breast, cupping it gently, sending a wonderful shiver of desire through her. She felt her wits swim dizzily in the wake of such passion. They parted for a fleeting moment, then came together again in a tight embrace. 

"Christine...Christine..." he moaned, his voice hoarse and low.

"My Angel, I love you," she said in full, hushed tones.

Over her shoulder, she saw the despairing, defeated expression on Raoul's face. Again, his words echoed through her brain. 

("Say you love him and my life is over!")

Raoul! If she stayed with Erik now, Raoul would commit suicide! She couldn't let that happen to her childhood friend!

"I will return Erik," she whispered, the priority of her task ripping her heart open. She longed to stay with him now and say goodbye to Raoul for good, but she had to make sure the boy understood first. This at first seemed an impossible thought, but she had no choice.

"Don't leave me Christine. Please," Erik whispered desperately, holding her tighter as if she would pull away. In response, she pressed a lingering kiss on his temple, tangling her fingers into his hair.

"Trust me dearest. You are my choice. I swear I shall come back to you. And I will _not_ marry Raoul."

Erik's heartbeat doubled at the conviction in her voice and pulled away to look into her eyes. They were pink with tears, yet stared unwaveringly into his. Yes. She would return. He could see in her eyes the strength of her devotion. In the glittering green of their depths, he could see her love. "I...trust you. Christine, I..."

"Track down this murderer! He must be found!"

Erik's statement was cut-off by the far off shouting of the mob, coming to kill him. Christine broke eye contact and turned fearfully towards the sound. Erik let go of her and went to Raoul. He lifted a candle and burned the string that supported the Punjab lasso. It fell limp and Raoul whipped it from his neck. He assumed a rigorous stance, quite ready to leap onto his enemy. His surprise was great indeed when he found Christine being pressed into his arms.

"Forget me, forget all of this," he whispered to Raoul, not daring to glance at his beloved, for fear his convictions would break and he would carry her off again. Grabbing a torch, he motioned for them to follow him. "Leave me alone, forget all you've seen. Go now! Don't let them find you!"

"Revenge for Piangi! Revenge for Buquet!" 

The sounds of the mob grew closer as they neared the shore. "Take the boat! Leave me here! Go now, don't wait!" Erik urged, pointing towards the moored boat. Raoul tightened his arms around Christine, as if he thought Erik would pull her away from him. Seeing that Raoul didn't believe in his intention to let them go, Erik grew impatient and took a warning step towards them. "Just take her and go, before it's too late! GO!"

Before Raoul pulled her into the shadows, Christine drew back and cast a pleading gaze into Erik's eyes. He knew; she was telling him to follow them, but it was an impossibility at the time. Sensing Raoul's persistent reluctance, he gave a great cry.

"GO NOW! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"

"Erik!" Christine choked as Raoul dragged her into the darkness. As they got into the boat, Christine heard the tinkle of the music bow, rolling its inviting tune sadly into the air...

(((*)))

"No Christine."

"What?" She asked, startled from the memory. Her heart twisted when she saw the look on his face; a look that warned against argument.

"Music is not your life anymore. I am your life now." Something began to boil in her head and she felt her cheeks heat up. She turned away from him, lest he see the distasteful scowl on her lips.

"I want to be here in Paris, Raoul. You don't understand that a better part of my life was spent here. One can't simply throw the past away like rubbish. I need time. I don't see the hurry, and I don't see why you're acting this way. I'm no possession and I'm not quite your wife yet." 

She gasped in startled surprise when he laid his hands on her shoulders and spun her to face him. The cold gleam in his eyes disconcerted her, but she gave no outward sign of it.

"But you _will_ be, and sooner rather than later! For God's sake Christine, do you think I dragged myself down into that dungeon for sport? I didn't travel into that demon's lair for nothing you know! You don't seem to appreciate how much I risked to save you! Now, listen carefully. We will go to London and we will be married. Do you _understand_?" The way he spoke to her, as if she were a child, set off the anger in her and she pushed away from him, her eyes smoldering. 

"Oh stop talking to me like that, of course I understand Raoul! I'm not slow you know! Though I can't quite say the same for you!" Christine answered, suddenly shouting at him. She wrenched herself from his grasp and squared her shoulders, feeling Erik's spirit well up within her. "I-don't-want-to-leave, so stop being such an unreasonable brat!"

"How dare you shout at me, you impudent girl!" Raoul shouted back, seizing her wrists. He pulled her close to him and pressed his face into hers. "I am to be your husband and you are never to take that tone on me again! Do I make myself clear?"

"Let go Raoul, that hurts!" she winced, trying to twist her wrists free. The moment she spoke, Raoul's mouth dropped open in shock, as if he'd been slapped across the face. He immediately let go of her and dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

"Oh, forgive me Christine! I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I..."

"I know what came over you Raoul," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. "You were afraid I'd leave you. Well I won't." She was surprised at how easily this lie came out, but it seemed to calm him a little and he rose from the floor.

"Then, you'll come with me?" he asked her, hope gleaming in his eyes.

"Yes Raoul. But we mustn't marry right away. I...I still need time to...get over th...the strain," she whispered, interjecting a deliberate stutter to gain sympathy. It seemed to work, for he pulled her into a swift embrace.

"My poor dearest Christine," he crooned a little too sweetly. "I'd like to kill that beast for what he did to you."

She stiffened in his embrace, but he didn't seem to notice. She felt something slide onto her finger and looked down. It was a golden engagement band inlaid with flourishes of tiny diamonds. She suppressed a sneer as she looked at the twinkling ring. She felt the urge to wrench it off and throw it into the fireplace. This trinket had no place on her finger, which would be graced by the ring from just one man, her only love, and she would loathe this ring until the day it would leave her finger. As Raoul's possessive embrace continued, she repeated the promise she had made in her head.

("...I will _not_ marry Raoul...I will _not_ marry Raoul...")

"I will not," her lips formed the words into Raoul's starched shirt. (I am going to leave you Raoul, her mind's voice growled. You just wait and see. You just wait.)

--

Meg Giry approached the huge oaken door, her tiny hands trembling. She raised a tight little fist and rapped lightly on the wood. "Mama?" 

"Come in, child," a soft, aged voice answered her, admitting her into the study. Meg entered and beheld the dark, severe figure of her mother, sitting at the small cherry wood writing desk. A deep thoughtfulness lay on her brow, but then her expression was usually solemn, so she seemed always to be in reverie. Taking a deep breath, the little ballerina sidled up to her mother.

"What is it my dear? You seem troubled," Madame Giry whispered gently, her voice in contrast to the severity of her appearance and reputation. Her daughter held out the creamy envelope, which trembled slightly in her pale hand.

"A letter came for you," she murmured, as if telling a secret. 

"From the managers?"

Meg shook her head, several long, strawberry curls falling from her style. "I... I'm afraid I opened it..." she mused, her voice coming from far away.

"Now Meg," her mother said, attempting to sound scolding, but Meg's strange demeanor prompted her to be gentle, "You know it is bad manners to open other people's mail. Why did you open it?"

"It... it's from Christine."

The letter left Meg's hands immediately and soon Madame Giry was poring over it feverishly. 

__

Dearest Madame Giry,

I regret that I am writing under miserable circumstances, and I'm afraid that there is no time for pleasantries. I will be leaving Paris for London tomorrow. But do not worry; the boy cannot keep me forever. I will return to Paris as soon as I find the chance to leave.

Enclosed is a letter to a very important person. I trust you will see that it gets to the addressee safely and un-tampered. It is highly personal.

Sincerely,

Christine

Reaching into the envelope again, she drew out a smaller envelope sealed with blue wax. A single word was written across the front in tender cursive:

__

Erik.

The old lady's black eyes grew dim with pity. "She doesn't know. Poor child, she doesn't know he's dead."

Meg's feet shuffled on the floor and she dropped to her knees. "Mama..." she whispered, her blue-green eyes glassy with tears. 

"What is it dearest?"

"There's something I have not yet told you. I have been careless in a promise I made, and to make sure that this letter is delivered, I must tell you now."

For the next hour, little Meg Giry divulged her experience beneath the Opera House to her mother who sat stock still, leaving the sharp-tongued ballet mistress absolutely speechless in the wake of such a tale, her mouth dropping open in absolute disbelief.

"Well," she breathed when Meg's tale had finally ceased, "I had better see to this matter at once." She stood and draped her thick cloak over her thin shoulders. Then, for the first time in five months, she let out a small laugh. "It seems my service to the Angel will never end."

//Well, that's one chapter down! Care to read another? Please remember to review!


	2. To Glance Behind...

A/N: Okay, this story's coming along quickly, so I hope it doesn't seem thrown together, cuz I'm loving it! Oh yeah, disclaimer... I own... NOBODY! See, easy as that. R/R and enjoy!

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Wishing You Were Somehow Near

Chapter Two: To Glance Behind...

--

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London, 1883

Below the bow window of the little apartment, Londoners clamored and chattered as they sought refuge from the drizzling rain. Behind the water-spattered glass, Christine gazed listlessly out at the monotonous scene from her oak desk. This wasn't the first time she'd been cooped up in this coat closet of sorts that Raoul proudly named "their new home." It had been nearly a month and a half since the boat bearing them from Paris docked in London. Raoul's fortune had come to such a value that it made them somewhat less than aristocrats. This combined with Raoul's refusal to work had landed them in the bourgeoisie- slightly less than upper class, slightly more than middle class. 

Christine found she rather liked not having to show off extravagant jewels and clothes to the "cream of society". It lessened her overall stress not to keep up appearances as Raoul so indulged in. He regularly frequented society parties and dinners where he would come back from very intoxicated and in a foul mood. Christine refused to attend with him on grounds that she was not ready for society yet. That deliberate stutter worked wonders on his feeble brain. But he endlessly encouraged her to forget Paris and enjoy their new life together. She was safe from "the beast" and there was no way for him to interrupt their wedding. Sometimes she could picture herself cornering him, shouting at the top of her voice how much she didn't want a new life. 

(What kind of life would I lead now you fool? I would welcome him at our wedding as the one who shouts, "I object!" I might as well be dead if I can't be with him!)

No matter how she longed to say this to him, she was certain that one of two things would follow after. One possibility was that, because Raoul's skull was far too thick to take her seriously, he would just pat her on the back and say "Poor dear." The other, and the one she was more certain of, was that he would react harshly as he often did. 

With a sigh, she brushed her hand over the bruises on her shoulders, the products of a rather heated argument about the wedding. Not within a week of their arrival in London, a wedding announcement in the paper caught her eye. 

De Chagny/Daae: March 14th. 

It was _their_ wedding announcement.

She had promptly flown into Raoul's study, waving the paper around and asking why he hadn't consulted her about it. He simply said that she showed no interest in planning it so he took it upon himself. She told him he was a vain, inconsiderate man, and warned him not to brush her off like that again. Even when he stood looking angered, she continued to shout at him, demanding that the wedding be postponed. 

It was then that Raoul displayed his true colors in all their intensity. He grabbed her shoulders, the pads of his fingers like steel, and kissed her roughly. He began shouting that unless she wished to find herself on the streets, they were to be married at the decided time. Christine had begun to breathe heavily, bringing him out of his rage. He fell to his knees and begged her for forgiveness. He was so far from the sweet boy he'd once been that it appalled her. Yet, with no way to get back to Erik at the moment, she had become legally engaged to the Vitcomte de Chagny.

Letting free another sigh, she opened the drawer of her desk and withdrew a single white rose, the delicate waxen petals now golden, fragile and dry to the touch. Memories spun in her head and she laid her cheek on the desktop...

(((*)))

****

Raoul began to push the boat away from the shore when he noticed something glittering on her hand. His hand flashed out and snatched up her wrist.

"What is that?" he asked, spitting out each word.

She looked at her captured hand and saw the beautiful band with its smooth black stone. "The ring he gave me," she answered very matter-of-factly.

"Well give it BACK," he hissed, and Christine jumped in surprise. "You are not tied to him any longer and I won't have him thinking you are! Give it back!" Before she could answer him, he had shoved her out of the boat.

Christine hurried back to the house, completely taken aback with that sudden display of anger. She reached the drawing room as the final strains of the Masquerade Waltz sank into silence. Erik sat hunched and dejected, tenderly holding the gossamer veil as he sobbed. Her heart nearly broke and she placed her hand on his cheek. He gasped and looked up at her, the intense hope burning in his eyes. Her own overflowed with tears as she pressed her hand into his, depositing the precious ring. He did not look at it, only into her eyes.

"Christine...I love you," he sang in a tear-soaked voice, laying his hand over hers on his misshapen cheek. A sob hitched in her throat, and she bent to kiss his forehead, secretly dipping her hand to the floor.

"I love you," she whispered back. Oh, to remain with him now. Oh, that stupid boy! She rose to leave, her first sobs causing her shoulders to shiver. As she disappeared into the shadows, her fingers clutched the stem of the rose she had retrieved from her bridal bouquet...

(((*)))

She'd kept the rose a secret all this time, taking it out from time to time to remember her promise and keep fighting to keep it. She raised the bloom to her nose and inhaled deeply, catching hints of the sweet scent under the dead mustiness. A wave of sadness passed over her and she pressed her cheek against the window, the cool smooth glass reminding her of his mask.

"Erik..." she whispered, tears softening her voice. She had to think of a way out soon. But what?

"Christine?" 

She spun around and cursed inwardly when she saw Raoul standing in the doorway a deep frown on his brow. Over the weeks, he'd become more of a pest than ever, but she was adept at concealing her dismay of his presence.

"Raoul!" she answered, pasting what she hoped was a convincing smile onto her face. The frown on his face, however, failed to diminish, and Christine's sixth sense began to buzz. Something was about to happen. A little uneasy, yet undaunted she continued. "Where have you been darling?"

"Christine, what is that?" he demanded coolly, gesturing to the faded flower.

Memories resurfaced in her head, remembering the first time he demanded this question of her. Not bothering to think of an excuse, she shot him a look of blank innocence and answered in the same matter-of-factly tone as she had before. "It's a rose."

"I can see it is a rose Christine. Answer my question; where did it come from?"

The innocent look on her face faded into a smug smile. "But dearest, that isn't what you asked me at all. One question at a time please."

"I see you mean to be stubborn, _my sweet_," He spoke these last two words with such cold, dripping sarcasm that it made Christine's stomach twist. "Where did you get that rose, and don't you dare lie to me."

She frowned darkly for an instant then smiled smugly again. "Oh, I've had it for quite some time. I think a little over a month. Hmm, let's see... Ah, I remember!" She flashed a saccharine-sweet smile at him, watching his bratty impatience darken his brow. "I took it with me when we left Paris. Oh, it seemed like it would be a lovely souvenir."

"Don't defy me Christine!" Raoul spat, advancing on her slowly. "_He_ gave that to you. Am I correct?"

"No, sir, you are not," she answered, raising her voice ever so slightly. "I _took_ it with me. I doubt Erik even knows I did."

"So I'm right!" he shouted triumphantly. "It _did_ come from that...that THING! It passed from his hands to yours!" He stood over her and pressed his flushing face into hers. She could smell the sour champagne from his latest debauch on his breath. "Now I know what it's all about! All those times you've tried to leave, your blasted aloofness, and even now I heard you whisper his name! The demon still has some hold on you! You've let him control you again!" With that, he snatched the fragile rose from her fingers and crushed it in his clenched fist. Christine let free a small cry of dismay as the gold-brown fragments of the petals fluttered sadly to the floor. Her gemlike eyes grew hard with indignant fire. She stood up and stomped her foot.

"How DARE you! I never imagined you could be so unreasonable! Erik has no hold on me, and if I choose to remember him that is my affair and you can do nothing about it!"

"Don't you dare shout at me Madam!" Raoul bellowed, seizing her wrists violently, his fingers digging into her soft skin.

"Stop it! Let go of me!" she shouted, struggling to free her hands. Raoul's open palm came crashing into her cheek and she screamed in pain. She shoved him away and retreated to the far corner of her study, holding her throbbing cheek. Raoul, suddenly realizing he'd hit her, instantly sobered and ran to her side.

"Christine, I..." He got no further. Her hand flashed across his cheek, her long nails slashing the skin.

"GET AWAY!" she shrieked, the violent force of her voice thrusting him back. "Don't come near me! If you touch me again I'll KILL you!"

Raoul touched the furrows she had scored into his face and, recovering from his shock, became angry again. "How dare you strike me you little witch! I was trying to apologize!"

"Oh, of COURSE!" Christine screamed with bitter, sobbing sarcasm. "And then what? Within the next week you'll strike me again! Don't you DARE act as if this is the first time you have done this!"

"Be quiet Christine! The neighbors will hear you!" he hissed sharply.

"Don't tell me to be quiet! My whole life I've been quiet! For months I've longed to tell you exactly what I think of you! And now I shall! You are a selfish, pompous, conceited, chauvinistic FOOL Raoul de Chagny!" she yelled, her ivory skin glowing crimson with rage, contrasting sharply with Raoul's which had gone the color of a wet sheet.

"That's quite enough! I said be silent!" he shouted again, advancing on her threateningly.

"I will NOT! You will kindly cease interrupting me, because I'm going to tell you something that I'm sure you've wanted to know for months! Why did I leave with you? Ever wonder why I left Erik? Hmm? Well I'll tell you! Because I CARED about you because we were childhood friends! You think I left because I LOVED you? No Raoul, you selfish brat! I left because you threatened suicide if I stayed with Erik! And I CARED! What a silly fool I am!" she half laughed, half sobbed. In her rage, she hardly knew what she said at all, nor did she notice the angry fire burning in Raoul's eyes. "You DISGUST me, do you know that? Erik may have lost his temper, but he never, EVER hit me! He would never raise his hand to strike me! You see these?"

She thrust her arms from the sleeves of her gown, baring the fresh red bruises and the fading yellow ones that mottled her pure skin. "These are from your hands! These are the _'proof'_ of your LOVE for me! Erik would never do this to me! And do you know why? Because Erik is a better man than you'll EVER be! He loves me, which is far more than I can say for you!"

"SILENCE!" Raoul screamed, lashing out at her with a tight fist. It slammed into her left eye and sent her into the wall behind her. The back of her head smashed into the framed picture, shattering the glass. The last thing she heard was her moan of pain and Raoul calling her name before she fainted among the shattered glass and crushed petals on the floor.

--

Reluctantly, the stick grasp of insensibility loosened its hold on Christine. Groaning, she struggled to sit up. She opened her eyes with some difficulty as her left was already beginning to swell, and glanced about her. Raoul had laid her on her bed and left the gas half up, its dim yellow light casting strange shadows around the room. Rising from her bed, she tested her legs and stumbled to the lamp. She twisted the switch and threw a little more light on the objects around her. She crossed to the full-length mirror and stifled a scream when she beheld the strange apparition before her. Then, sinking into reality, she realized that the specter was she. Raising one hand to her face, she pressed her right cheek to see if she was dreaming or not. Needles of pain prickled her face and she choked back a sob. 

For the first time, she saw how terribly altered she had become in the past month. Her face, which had always been fairly pale, was paper-white, the once supple cheeks waxy, sallow and sunken in. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her entire frame was nearly emaciated. Her right cheek burned under the red imprint of Raoul's hand, and skin around her left eye had already begun to darken to a deep purple one usually associates with flowers. She let her dressing gown fall to the floor and saw how rack thin she had become. Her arms and legs were skinny, transparent and mottled with painful, purpling bruises. She could even see the delicate blue veins pulse under her white skin. The whole spectacle of herself made tears prickle behind her green eyes. She sank to the floor and sobbed like a lost soul as the tears streamed in rivers down her bruised cheeks.

(Why did I ever leave him? How could I have ever thought that Raoul would understand? How could I let this happen just to play along with this stupid charade?)

She'd tried not to let it happen though. Three times she tried to escape from him. First, she'd taken Czarina, her mare, and rode off while Raoul was out. But the Fates felt frivolous that day and chose at that moment for Czarina to become thirsty. No sooner than she'd stopped that Raoul came rattling up to her in a brougham, quite unexpected. Thankfully, he seemed unsuspecting of her intentions and ushered her into the carriage, gently chiding her un-ladylike behavior. Not long after, she tried again, leaving Czarina behind this time. She had taken a carriage into town, changing cabs several times. Yet, somehow, Raoul managed to follow her again. When he caught up to her, she found that he was under the impression that she had gone shopping. He handed her a purse of pounds and reminded her to get fresh bread. When at last he had gone, Christine ducked into an alley and wept angrily. How would she ever get home to her blessed angel if that wretched boy kept getting in the way? With each day that passed, she could feel her hopes, and Erik's, growing fainter. But she would not admit defeat and she would not give up. She'd die first. 

The third attempt at escape had hardly been the charm for her. She'd made it nearly to the docks on Czarina, but was intercepted by a group of ruffians with leering smiles and hungry eyes. Their loud, mocking shouts had frightened Czarina and she threw Christine off and ran, trampling one man as she went. The gang roughened her and knocked her about, and worse might have come if the bobby hadn't observed the scuffle. He sent the gang running with bruised skulls and bloody noses and took Christine to the police department. After being bandaged and inspected, it was determined of who she was and Raoul was summoned to claim her, as they put it.

"Claim her". That phrase burned into her mind as she realized it was not only the pompous boy who held her in that respect. As a fiancée, and indeed as a wife of society, she was looked upon as a possession, and it disgusted her.

When Raoul arrived, the officer told him where she had been found, and only then did Christine suspect his assumptions that she meant to leave him. For his strictness towards her increased. He gave explicit orders to the housekeeper not to let Christine leave the house without telling him. Feeling the sudden need to insult him, she snapped, "From one captor to another!" This earned her a rather brutal slap across her face and a fresh round of bruises on her arms.

Returning to the present, her body wracked with sobs, she looked down at her hands in her lap. The fingers, once soft and slender, were now unbelievably bony. Like Erik's.

No, not quite like Erik's. Erik's hands were indeed white and thin, and sometimes cold, but the soft pads of his fingertips and palms were always felt when he touched her hand or face. Her hands, however, had now become sharp and skeletal. How had she become so thin? Every night she dined richly with Raoul, skipping meals only when she was ill, which was often, or depressed, which was more often. This could hardly constitute to such extreme spareness. Puzzled, she turned her gaze to the mirror and found herself staring into her dull, lusterless eyes.

She saw then that she was like a flower in foreign soil. No matter how much sunlight, water or love you give it, it withers and inevitably dies. Erik always told her that life without her was not a life worth living. Until now, Christine had not seen that the concept applied physically to her and she was gradually wasting away. A new fear kindled in her. If she didn't return to Erik soon, she would die. Tonight would be the night, no more waiting. Never again would she submit to Raoul's hands.

A light rap at her door startled her from her brooding. She tread softly back to the bed and sank beneath the sheet.

"Yes?" she croaked, her throat feeling insufferably dry. The door opened and Raoul entered the room his head hung in shame. She had no sympathy for his shame, and scowled at him. "Is there something you want?" She asked calmly.

He looked up at her, his pride wounded. "Please Christine, don't be like that. I am truly sorry for my atrocious behavior. There is no excuse for the way I've treated you. Please, you must forgive me."

"Must I? I'd rather hear more poetry. Tell me another," She answered with dry humor. A look of darkness passed over his brow, but melted away as quickly as it had come.

"Please Christine. Think of our engagement, our marriage, and what your unforgiving attitude might, or might not, bring about."

Christine was so incredibly incensed that she could have leapt out of the bed and pummeled him within an inch of his life, just so he could watch stupidly as she left him. But her psyche told her to stay silent for a while, and she snuggled into the pillows, turning away from him. Raoul sighed.

"Very well Christine. We will speak tomorrow. Goodnight." With that, he left the room and she heard him enter the bathroom. As soon as the door scraped shut, she kicked the sheets aside and went to work. She slipped into a pair of soft slippers and, retrieving the small bottle of laudanum from her vanity, slipped silently through the corridors into the drawing room. Crossing to the large decanter of sherry, she pulled the small cork from the bottle of tranquilizer and emptied its contents into the snifter. It was a small bottle and no more than half full, so she didn't think it would do too much damage to him. At the moment, she cared not if it did. But whether he was harmed or not, she needed to be sure he was out so she could make preparations to leave.

The bathroom door squeaked open, announcing his approach. Without time to get back to her room, she draped her long, plum dressing gown about herself and slunk into the deep shadows between the wall and the bookcase. The firelight was low and the curtains were drawn; he would not see her form in the darkness.

Her betrothed entered the room and tied the sash of his robe about his waist. Collapsing into his plush chair before the fireplace, he let free an exasperated sigh. He reached for the decanter and poured a glass of the amber liquid, muttering softly. Christine shuddered inwardly as the flickering light from the hearth cast strange shadows all over the angry scowl on his face. The huge clock struck the midnight as he opened a large volume from the side table. Settling at last into the upholstered chair, he began to drain glass after glass of the drugged spirit. For nearly an hour and a half, she stood breathlessly, watching him empty the large crystal bottle. As two o'clock approached, she saw the effects of the drink take their toll on him. His eyelids began to droop closed as he tried to make out the words on the page. Christine grinned to think of how the letters must be swimming in the sea of parchment. Twice he yawned, his eyelids clearly very heavy. He raised the glass to his lips, his fingers barely gripping it. As the last drips of sherry passed through his lips, the glass lolled out of his hand and rolled under the table. His blonde head dropped back over the top of the chair.

Christine nearly clapped her hands in glee and restrained a laugh. The sight of him looking so limp frightened her only a little. His chest rose and fell and his gentle snoring told her he was quite all right. With a tiny spring in her step, Christine entered her bedroom for the last time and began to hum happily. Soon she would be free of this place and that wretched boy for good.

--

The deep, loud clanging of the clock startled Raoul out of his sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he stood shakily, feeling the onset of a terrible hangover. The fourth and final chime of the clock died away into the thick silence of the house. Raoul frowned. Why wasn't he in bed? Then he remembered; he'd fallen asleep in his chair after the sherry. He glanced at the large decanter and was surprised to find it nearly empty, with only shallow ring of amber liquid at the bottom. The fight with Christine must have upset him more than he thought. Never before had he consumed so much liquor. His awakening mind, still heavily muddled with sleep and wine, thought to go to Christine and ask forgiveness again. How could she not? She was to be his wife and she depended on him. His determination regained, he began to walk down the corridor leading to her room when his foot connected with something on the floor. It bounced and rolled down the hall and he stooped to pick it up.

It was a small bottle cork, too small to be from any wine bottle. He frowned and cautiously brought it to his nose. The odor of alcohol and opium assailed his nostrils. Laudanum.

He threw an amazed glance back at the crystal snifter. What... what if someone had drugged the wine in order to kill him, or simply knock him out? Christine! What if they were after Christine? He began to run down the hall, when he stopped, frowning. Whoever had drugged him knew well of his habits to take sherry before bed. Reluctantly, he pushed the possibility of Erik from his mind, which consequently caused him to reel with horror. Could it have been Christine? Resuming his run, he burst into her room.

The gas was half up as she had left it and the sight of the room alone confirmed his suspicions. The bed, neatly made, was empty. Her vanity had been cleared off, save the empty bottle of laudanum winking mockingly at him in the low light. Next to it was a folded piece of parchment with his name written on it in Christine's copperplate hand. Snatching it up, he opened it and stared stupidly at the one word written on it.

Goodbye.

///////////////////////////////////////@\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Sorry Erik isn't in it yet, but he will be in Chapter Three, I swear! Good so far? PLEASE REVIEW! 


	3. Coming Home, Sweet Home

A/N: HI!!! It's been so long since I've worked on this story! I've been on a MAJOR Dragonball Z kick for MONTHS! Make sure you read some of those! So here is long awaited Chapter Three!  
  
(((*)))  
  
Flashbacks  
  
(((*)))  
  
--  
  
Wishing You Were Somehow Near

  
Chapter Three: Coming Home, Sweet Home  
  
--  
  
The day bloomed as the mist on the bay grew slightly brighter. An ill- dressed vagabond stood in the long line of people waiting for passage on the Avenir Brillant.  
  
Bright future, thought the figure, brightness filling her green eyes. _How appropriate._ Christine straightened the floppy cap on her bundled hair and sighed. No one in this crowd would suspect this ragamuffin to be the beautiful fiancée of the Vitcomte de Chagny. She grinned. _Ex-fiancée is more like it_. Soon there would be no more London, no more beatings, and no more Raoul.  
  
After a few minutes, she found herself at the front of the line, ready to pay for passage home. She emptied the little purse of pounds and shillings onto the shabby wooden box serving as a podium. The first mate sifted through the money carefully and looked up at her with a grave face.   
  
"Sorry lad, but your 'bout twenty pounds short," he said, not realizing that it was a 'lass' rather than a 'lad' that he was speaking to. Christine felt despair fill her heart.  
  
"But... that's all I was able to get. Are you sure?" Her voice trembled, a note of coming panic hiding in it.  
  
The burly sailor, genuinely surprised to find that he'd been mistaken in speaking of her gender, peered beneath the large cap. Taking in her injuries, he began to pity her quite sincerely. "I'm sorry miss. But look, there's still sometime before the boat leaves. Just run on 'ome and..."  
  
"I don't have a home!" Christine cried, tears of frustration running down her cheeks. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, a childish dread overcoming her. "I can't go back there. He'll... he'll hurt me..."  
  
"There, there now. Don't cry lass," the sailor said, laying a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry. Look 'ere, I'll tell you what we'll do. You get at least ten more pounds up, and I'll let you board."  
  
Christine looked up at him in surprise. This complete stranger, with no way of knowing if she was truthful, was willing to help her. But still, how would she get ten pounds in the middle of the docks.  
  
Her eyes suddenly went bright with a sudden idea. She grinned and took off her cap, letting her cascade of hair fall. She stepped back into a shadowed corner and took a deep breath. Her lovely voice poured from her throat into the gray air. People passing by stayed their hurried pace to hearken to the beautiful song coming seemingly from the shadows. Little handfuls of shillings and pound-notes began to fill the cap, which lay open like a beggar's hand pleading alms. She could have sung all day, but urgency tugged at her hand and she knew it was time to leave. She gathered up her earnings and counted them. She would gain passage on the ship after all, and still be ten pounds richer.  
  
After receiving her key and cabin number, she walked the deck for a while to see if Raoul, or anyone, had followed her. It simply wouldn't do for her betrothed to find her running away to Paris to be with another man. She looked at her hands and found she was trembling. It's nerves, she assured herself, not wanting to admit it was pure fear. She couldn't acknowledge weakness, not after she'd come this far.  
  
Soon becoming bored with traversing the deck, she made her way to her assigned cabin. As she inserted her key into the little lock, something flashed and caught her eye. She turned and saw a tall man glancing about, his burnished gold hair flashing in the rising sun. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Surely it couldn't be... She gasped and he suddenly turned to her. Raoul.  
  
She shrieked and fell to her knees, cowering from him. "No! You won't take me back! Go away!" She felt him seize her wrists and she screamed again.  
  
"'Ere, 'ere! What's all this about then?"  
  
Christine gasped, shocked out of her blind terror. Her head snapped up. It wasn't Raoul, only a mustached Englishman, closely resembling him in little things. She found her wrists not in Raoul's iron hand, but gently captured in the gentleman's. She almost laughed at her folly, but could not shake the feeling of fear. "Oh, I'm...I'm sorry sir. I didn't realize..."  
  
"Not at all m'dear. Sorry to spook you," he answered, freeing her wrists. Looking at her bruised face, he could only guess whom she was so afraid of. Feeling a little awkward, he apologized again and tipped his hat.  
  
As he walked away, Christine whirled around and slammed her fists into the wood, angry sobs wracking her body. This wouldn't do, being so paranoid of everyone who could be associated with Raoul. Every dark, glancing figure just seemed like one more informant on her whereabouts. It became obvious that she couldn't stay in the cabin. If Raoul had enough sense to know where she was headed, it would be far too easy for him to find her cabin. She couldn't risk that. What could she do?  
  
A wooden thump caught her attention. She turned around and saw a strong- armed sailor rolling a large barrel out of the cargo hold. An idea formed in her mind, one that she found she liked very much. Would Raoul stoop so low as to search for her in a dank, dirty, fishy-smelling room? A smile crept over her lips. No, that prissy boy would probably faint at the smell. Deciding this to be her best choice, she gathered up her bags and made her way down the stairs of the hold.  
  
Once she arrived, she wondered if she'd made a good choice. The rock of the ship was more pronounced down here, and the smell was pretty awful. The dampness in the air made her body throb under the bruises. But overall, she felt much safer hidden by all the piles of boxes and bags. It was doubtful that Raoul had followed her, but if she had learned one thing from her past escapades, it was to leave no loose ends.

A soft song floated down to her from the deck and she sat up, straining to hear. Some Irishmen were on deck, singing in a lilting harmony. Christine smiled, recognizing it as one of the many songs Erik had given her. He had not been serious and operatic all the time, and she remembered this being her favorite lullaby.  
  
_I'll take you home again, Kathleen_

Across the ocean wild and wide 

To where your heart has ever been 

Since first you were my bonny bride 

The roses all have left your cheek 

I've watched them fade away and die 

Your voice is soft whene'er you speak 

And tears bedim your loving eyes 

Oh, I will take you home Kathleen 

To where your heart will feel no pain 

And when the fields are fresh and green 

I'll take you to your home again

"So take me to my home again..." she whispered as sleep overcame her aching body, and a deep calm overcame her aching soul.

--

In a ritualistic gesture, a dagger's tip scraped its way down the stone wall. A jagged scar joined its many fellows across the rock. Erik's eyes swept over them, counting them wearily. Forty-three.

A long ragged sigh escaped his bosom and he stumbled away from the wall. He once again glanced around the room. The only good thing about the long days Christine had been gone was that he'd been able to restore the underground house to perfect condition. Sinking into the plush chair before the fire, he raised the fine crystal decanter to the almost forgotten glass beside him. The burgundy-brown liquid rolled into the glass and Erik stared fascinated at the curls of liquor. The color and richness in its flow threw his mind into memories of her long curling tresses, that rich brown with a perfection of red tints. His mismatched eyes trailed behind him to the scarlet velvet couch. He imagined her sitting there with him, her delicate frame leaning comfortably against him as they pored over his volumes of poetry. 

__

You won't have to imagine Erik. Soon, she will be with you. 

His undying trust in her had kept him alive all this time. After all that he lived through, Erik was not about to give up now. Christine had been his saving grace. She touched in him something he though quite dead long ago. Even after bearing witness to his crimes, his past and his face, she still gave him her heart. Fool that he was he almost lost it to that privy boy, if not for the love they already had for each other. The love that he used to think was one-sided.

Yet it was not only Christine who rescued him. He still remembered clear as day, when someone else was his savior...  
  
(((*)))  
  
Erik sat calmly in his great black throne. As he watched the throngs of people pouring over the portcullis, he drew his cloak over his body and secured it to the nearly invisible hook. He dropped through the back of the chair into the hidden compartment as little Meg Giry rushed up to it. He watched through the false décor as her tiny hand grasped the thick cloak and ripped it away expectantly.  
  
Erik smirked as he saw her face fall in disbelief. Slowly she reached down and picked up the white leather mask from the velvety cushion. She turned it over in her hand, puzzlement written on her brow. He watched amused for a second and gasped quietly as her green eyes flashed up to meet his through the backing. Of course it was pure coincidence that she happened to meet his eyes for she could not see him. Ironically his gasp gave him away anyway.  
  
For many minutes, their eyes remained locked on each other's while loud crashes and clamors erupted in the house. Sweat ran rampant down Erik's face, certain she could hear the rapid thunder of his heart. Surely, surely she must soon alert his pursuers to his presence. Then he saw her smile slowly at him through the barrier.  
  
"He's not here!" Meg cried out, her face puzzled again. Erik's heart stopped. She was... protecting him? Why?  
  
"Ov course 'e ees 'ere!" La Carlotta Guidicelli screeched. She held in her hands a stack of music and went to cast it into the hearth, now blazing with broken furniture. Meg gasped and rushed to her, wrenching the papers out of her hands, ripping a good deal of them.  
  
"No! He's gone! We're wasting our time!" She insisted, trying her hardest to save the music.  
  
"There's a boat crossing that lake!" A stagehand called. Erik stiffened. Christine was in that boat! They might shoot if they got desperate enough! In a rush of inspiration, he threw his voice effortlessly to come from the other side of the lake. His mad, mocking laughter rolled back over the water to reach the eager ears of the mob.  
  
"Look! On the other side!" M. Firmin cried. Erik smiled, grateful he'd remembered to leave a lantern lit on the other dock.  
  
"I'm here! I'm here! Chase the ghost, my friends don't stop! Don't stop!" As if on cue, the mob dropped their agenda and moved at once to follow the voice. Another thanks went up as Erik marveled at their gullibility. Madame Giry went to her daughter and took her hand, but Meg shook her head and motioned for her to go on. Her mother paled and frowned worriedly, but eventually followed the mob, shouting futile cries to stop their mad assault. Meg breathed a sigh and turned away from the throne. She placed the mask on the armrest and walked towards one of the remaining couches.  
  
"Is she safe?" she asked simply.  
  
He flinched. How did she know...never mind. Without a thought, he answered her. "Yes mam'selle. Quite safe. The boy too," Erik said sadly.  
  
"M'sieur," Meg said, bringing him back to the present. "Will...will you please come out? I'd like to talk to you."  
  
Erik remained motionless for a moment. Surely she had no quarrel with him if she didn't immediately run to the mob to ferret him out. Very carefully, he extracted himself from the throne and reached for the mask, replacing it. He stared at the young dancer's back, contemplating this unexpected surprise. Quietly he cleared his throat. Meg flinched and turned to face him. She drew in a long breath as her eyes traveled his tall figure. Recovering, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Erik was surprised by her sudden change in attitude.  
  
"I want you to look into my eyes Monsieur le Fantome, and tell me truthfully. Is Christine safe? If you cannot answer that, I will not hesitate to inform them of your whereabouts," she said cooly, with a note of command in her voice.  
  
_Probably got it from her mother_, Erik thought, biting back a smile. But he merely returned the cool expression and gazed steadily into her green eyes.  
  
"You've nothing to fear, young Giry. Christine is safe. She and the boy were in that boat."  
  
Meg searched his eyes for a long moment. Then her shoulders relaxed and she allowed herself a small smile. "You let them go?"  
  
Slowly, Erik nodded. "She chose me, but she left with him, to keep him safe I suppose."  
  
"You do not need to convince me m'sieur," Meg assured him. "I've known for a long time of Christine's feeling's. She loves you...very much."  
  
A ghost of a smile passed over his face. He still felt the heat of her lips on his, their softness, their taste. If he lived to be a thousand, he could never forget that.  
  
"I know. I only fear that the boy will try to interfere again, or...or convince her to stay with him." The very thought sent chills down Erik's spine.  
  
"Did she promise to return?" Meg asked, knowing how personal this situation was. But he nodded immediately and she smiled. "Then she will. Do not doubt her love for you m'sieur. I know Christine. She'll be back." The two looked at each other for a few moments and at last, Erik reached out and laid his hand on hers. She glanced down at it, then back up into his eyes.  
  
"You should be off mam'selle. They'll wonder what's become of you."  
  
Meg's eyes suddenly lit up with fear. "Yes! They'll realize they've been tricked and then, they'll be back to kill you!" The ballerina began feverishly wringing her hands and Erik merely smiled ruefully. Very calmly, he retrieved one of his spare masks and went to the ravaged organ. Deftly he plucked a bottle of his favored red ink and spilled some onto the white leather. Meg shuddered at the gruesomeness of the effect.  
  
"Come on," he commanded, grabbing her hand. He led her to the edge of the lake and spilled the rest of the ink into a shallow pool and tossed the empty bottle into the water. He turned to her, his eyes full of power.  
  
"Now listen to me," he said in a voice that demanded total obedience. "I'm going to fire off a shot. When you hear it, scream, as loudly as you can. I know you can do that. No sooner, no later than the shot. Do you understand?"  
  
Meg nodded quickly, taking the "bloodied" mask from him. Erik climbed up like a cat onto a rocky crag and removed his pistol. Aiming down away from her, he squeezed off a shot.  
  
The tremendous noise echoed through the cellars, mingling discordantly with Meg's panicked scream. Ever an actress, she promptly fell to the ground in a mock faint. Erik admitted silently that she played her part remarkably well as the first few knots of people poured back into his home. Madame Giry shrieked when she saw her daughter and fell to her knees. This called the attention of many and they all went to see if the girl was alright.  
  
"Is she breathing?"  
  
"Did he shoot her?"  
  
"Check her pulse man!"  
  
Meg picked this moment to groan and let her eyes flutter open.  
  
"Oh, _ma cher infant_!" Madame Giry sobbed, uncharacteristically throwing her arms around the child.  
  
"Where ees 'e?!" Carlotta shrieked. Erik cringed. That woman was truly abominable.  
  
"Whoo..." Meg croaked, trying to calm her thundering heart.  
  
"The Ghost of course!" Andre thundered.  
  
"Ghost? Ohh...he...shot himself. Dead... the lake..." She gestured with the "bloody" mask to prove it.  
  
"It's true, there's blood in the water," a stagehand said, a note of disappointment in his voice. Erik grinned. Probably wanted to do it himself.  
  
"Well looks like we're free, eh Andre?" Firmin sighed. His partner nodded and breathed a long breath of relief. The mob murmured assent and began to depart. Madame Giry helped Meg to her feet and led her off. Erik thought quickly and threw his voice to whisper in Meg's ear.  
  
"Thank you child." Meg stiffened and glanced back. "Don't fear. I will not bother those fools again. But do tell your mother that I am well and I will need her services at a later date. Adieu."  
  
Meg looked about and her mother turned her head.  
  
"Meg dear, what is it?" She asked concerned.  
  
"Oh, I...it's nothing _maman_. It's just, I think I can still hear his voice. In my head," she mused, knowing how very true that was.  
  
"The Angel is always there child," the old lady sighed, holding her daughter more closely. "Always..."  
  
(((*)))  
  
A discordant sound snapped Erik out of his thoughts. He looked up at his grand organ and grinned as he watched a white ball of fluff skip across the polished keys.  
  
"Melissa," Erik smiled, rising to go to her. "What a musical thing you are. Come here. I'm sorry for neglecting you." He picked up the tiny kitten and cradled her in his arms. The little cat mewed softly and settled into his arms, purring happily. He returned to the chair and sat for many minutes, stroking his little housemate. Unconsciously, he slipped into thoughts of his other lost love.  
  
Ayeesha. He'd found her two weeks ago, mewling pitifully, her normally bright eyes dull and cloudy. Someone had poisoned her. He didn't know if it was deliberate or if she'd eaten the poisoned bait the ratcatcher put out, but either way, Erik was losing one of his best friends. He decided not to let her suffer and ended her life painlessly, continuing to stroke her until she stopped breathing. For a week he ate little, slept less and composed nothing. He would lie on the couch for hours, weeping more than he ever had in his life.  
  
But then, that day arrived. He'd gone out to pick up flowers to lay on his little love's grave when he heard voices in the alleyway.  
  
"Hold it's mouth open Pierre! I wanna touch its tounge!"  
  
A burst of boyish laughter turned Erik's stomach, which was quickly followed by a small, desperate cry. He quickly rounded the corner and spied a knot of young boys bending over something small, helpless and alive on the ground. Anger flared up over the sadness in Erik's soul and he stalked over to them. His malevolent shadow descended on the group and they turned fearfully to face him. He didn't need to say a word, the lot of them sprang up and fled.  
  
With a grunt of disgust, he gave a final glare in their direction and turned his attention to their victim. It was a small, scrawny, white kitten, barely finished weaning. Her fur was caked with filth and there was a glass bottle tied to her tail with a string. How anyone could be so cruel to this little treasure was beyond him and he bent to pick her up. As he took the string off of her, she stirred and looked up at him. Erik was startled by her eyes. They were a brilliant violet and sparkled with life. At the sight of another human, she let free a barely audible hiss and raked her tiny claws over his leather glove. Erik smiled and lazily caressed her back. Immediately she decided he was no threat and relaxed into a furry ball in his palm. He continued his caresses all the way home.  
  
Melissa proved a godsend. She wasn't nearly Ayeesha's replacement, but she was a lovely companion to him anyway. She ate when he did, which was now more frequently, and slept anywhere she pleased. Mostly she found her comfort was in Christine's room. Erik hoped this meant that she would like the future occupant.  
  
As he thought of his beloved, he retrieved the letter from the side table; The letter written in his love's tender hand.  
  
_My Erik,  
  
I'm sorry. I never should have left you. Raoul has decided to make things more difficult than I thought. I am writing to you now from London. Stubborn little ass that he is, he has his housekeeper accompany me everywhere, and I was only able to give you this letter through Meg's hand. But do not despair. I will find away back to you. Or I shall die trying.  
  
I love you,  
  
Christine  
_  
A fuzzy paw suddenly batted at the parchment, causing it to fold over. Erik sighed. "Melissa, can you not bear to see me read?" He smiled and stroked her downy fur, humming a soft tune into the air, carrying his love on the wings of a song.  
  
----  
  
AT LAST! Chapter 3 is da-da-da-duh-da-DONE! SO sorry this took soooo long, but now it's there, for all the world to review! So please do!


	4. On His Side

Authoress Notes: Well, I'm surprised I'm getting this one out so fast! As you can tell, for me it usually takes a month or two…or three… WELL, not this time! This is a big chapter, so I hope you can take it all in! ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I own nothing yadda yadda yadda. Leroux and ALW own it blah blah blah.

--

Wishing You Were Somehow Near

Chapter Three: On His Side

-- 

Two days later, Christine hurried down the ramp, her bags bouncing against her hip. She placed her feet on the flat cobblestones, which shimmered with moisture. She smiled and took a deep breath. It had rained yesterday, and unlike in London, French rain was a precious memory. In London, it always rained and the air smelled of rotting vegetation. But in Paris after a storm or even a light shower smelled fresh and clean.

She remembered almost a year ago when there had been a terrible storm. Still very much like a child, Christine had been frightened by the fierceness of it. As always, Erik came to her rescue. He led her down to the house and they sat for hours reading together. She recalled sitting at his feet as poetry fell from his lips like warm honey. After the storm had passed, Erik took a thick blanket and brought her to the roof of the Opera House. The rain had cleared away all of the clouds and smoke and when she looked up, Christine saw the sky scintillate with stars. Even the tiniest ones twinkled brightly in the deep velvety sky. Erik spread the blanket and the pair sat in each other's company. He draped his cloak over her shoulders and stroked her curling tresses as she listened intently to his voice telling the legendary stories of the constellations she pointed out. Her mind whirled with delight in the accounts of the gods and heroes in his tales.

Her green eyes welled up with tears. It was one of many innocently close moments they had together, but remembering how shabbily she'd treated him made her unbearably sad. Erik had been a perfect companion in every way, and she very nearly lost him to her foolishness and fear.

But soon that would all be behind her. A short carriage ride away was Paris and the kingdom of her dark angel.

Her soul filled with a joy she'd almost forgotten and she began to sing triumphantly. She danced down the streets, heedless of the strange looks she earned from the people she passed. She didn't stop as she hailed a carriage, letting her voice draw it near to the curb. Tossing her bags in with a jubilant crescendo, she snatched her cap from her head, letting her cascade of long soft curls tumble down. She jumped into the seat with a loud laugh, like she had never laughed before. Knocking on the panel, she handed the driver a purse.

"Paris please, the sooner the better!" She grinned, laughing again as she fell back against the upholstery. 

The driver gave her a quizzical look, taking in her bruises and giving his head a rather sad shake. Christine thought she heard him mutter, "Poor child," but she didn't care. She was going home, and nothing could stop her.

Suddenly she became aware of how very light her left hand felt. She looked down at it. It was bare. 

That didn't really surprise her. She'd left the ring in Raoul's house, in his room. She hadn't cared where it had landed. It could be sitting there in the middle of the floor trampled by his great clumsy housekeeper for all she knew. Only one ring was worthy of wearing, and that was the one she'd left with Erik the night she left. And soon it would grace her finger again. Christine grinned.

"Too bad Raoul. You should've kept a tighter leash on me."

With a great relieved sigh, she stretched her body along the seat and placed one of her bags under her head. The ride was bumpy, but she quickly felt her body becoming numb. She suddenly felt the weight and weariness of the past year melting off of her and the throbbing ebbed from her body. _So_,_ this is what freedom feels like_, she thought as she sank into dreams of Erik's voice ringing through her heart.

--

"_Miss…miss_…Pardon me, miss!"

"Hmm?" Christine was startled from sleep and lifted her head to acknowledge the driver. "I'm sorry, what is it?"

"Sorry to disturb you mam'selle, but it seems one of the horses has a bad leg. It's been bothering him for a bit, so I thought we'd stop at the next village's livery and let him rest a bit."

Christine's shoulders drooped. It turned out that this day would not be as simple and easy as she had thought. "Well, this is certainly a nuisance," Christine muttered, but nodded to the driver that it would be best.

After they arrived at the livery, the driver discovered that the horse would need more than a little rest. They would have to buy a new one. Christine sat glumly on a stool, trying to tune out the men arguing over the best price for the horse She wished more than ever for her Czarina, but wishing would get her nowhere. 

As she sat waiting, a thousand worries flooded her brain. Had Meg delivered the letter? Was Erik still waiting? Would her take her back? A shudder coursed through her; Had he given up on her? Her effervescent mood disappeared and was replaced by primal urgency. 

Deciding she had suffered enough through hearing the men argue and bargain for the animal, she got to her feet and walked over to the bantering men.

"Excuse me," she said, not caring what they thought of her for interrupting, "How far is it to Paris?

"Well, we're a mile or to away from the Parisian outskirts. It won't take us long," The driver answered, glad to have his attention drawn from the unpleasant exchange he'd been having.

"M'sieur, thank you for getting me this far," said Christine with a polite smile, "But you may save your francs. I'm going to walk."

"What? No, never mam'selle. Who know what kind of ruffians there are in these parts! I could never in good conscience let you walk all the way to Paris," he protested, but Christine shook her head.

"It is taking much too long waiting, and I really have no time to lose," she answered. "You may keep your payment, and thank you again m'sieur." 

This time the keeper thought he ought to say something. "Well, I have an old wagon I used to use to haul straw. It only needs one horse. It will definitely be safer than walking."

The driver of the carriage frowned, deciding this sounded like sales talk. "How much?"

"Twenty francs."

"What?! That's highway robbery! If you think-"

"Done," Christine said sharply, holding out the franc notes. Whatever she had to do to get to Paris, she would. There was to be no more dallying on this journey.

--

This choice turned out to be one of discomfort. If only they'd had that carriage to ride in. That wagon bumped and jostled her in all the wrong places. But they'd gotten to Paris at last, and she forgot about her aches and pains. They passed the quaint shops bustling with shouting, scolding people and the tall elaborate houses along the Rues. Then at last there it was. The Cathedral Notre Dame. 

"Let me off here please. I'd like to walk the rest of the way."

The driver nodded, deciding this time not to question the strange girl. The wagon rumbled to a stop and Christine got out, pulling her bags down with her. She paid him and waved as he rode off in a bit of a hurry. _He probably thinks you're mad girl_, she thought with a grin and looked up at the holy place. Tear pricked behind her eyes as she gazed up the length of its tall gothic towers, letting them traverse the enormous round rosette of stained glass, shimmering in the early sun. Retreating into her mind, she imagined her and Erik together in that great sanctuary, joining their lives as one.

A low, haunting note from one of the larger bells brought her back to the present. Yes, she would marry Erik. But first she had to get to him. 

Just as she started off again, the mellow, pealing bells all struck into a glorious song, welcoming her back to fair Paris. This time, her tears fell unchecked from her smiling eyes.

"I'm home. I'm really home Erik! And I'm coming!"

"No you're not Christine."

Her blood chilled at the sound of the steely voice and she spun around. Pure rage made her blood hot again as she faced her oppressor. 

"YOU!" She shouted at Raoul, who sat atop a tall horse, glaring down at her. "What are you doing here? Why are you following me?" 

"Foolish girl, you think I'm an idiot? I knew you would come back to prostitute yourself to that demon. And as for following you, I've merely come to claim what's mine." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring she'd left. Christine sneered at him.

"I am not yours Raoul," she said as she turned to leave him.

The thunder of hoof beats clattered on the sidewalk as Raoul rounded his horse to block her path. "I think differently." He reached down and grabbed her hand, forcing the ring into it. Christine was struck dumb by his incredible stupidity. Did he really think he was accomplishing anything? "You will put that on, stop this foolishness and come home." He said it with such finality, as if he expected no argument.

Christine stared at the ring in her palm. The diamonds embedded in the fine gold twinkled and winked. It really was a fine looking piece of jewelry. She looked up at Raoul, a calm expression on her face. Then she stretched out her arm, holding her fist over the street. With a bitter smile, she opened her hand and let the ring fall into the gutter. It clinked softly and rolled away, falling at last into a sewer grate. Raoul gaped at her like a fish, earning another smile from his former intended.

"I'm going home," she said firmly and moved to go around the huge animal.

"NO!" Raoul yelled, reaching down to grab a fistful of her hair. The roots pulled painfully at the knot at the back of her head and she cried out. "Not to him you're not! Never!"

"Let go of me! Let go!" She screamed, dragging her nails down his arm. Raoul, ever weak, roared and let her go. Christine took her moment to run. She screamed again as the storm of horse's hooves on the cobblestones assailed her. Then there was a biting sting as Raoul brought the riding whip down upon her shoulderblades. She gasped in pain and fell, the fabric of her trousers giving way to stone. She felt her skin tear and cried out in anger more than pain.

"Get up!" Raoul ordered, walking his horse over to her while she struggled to rise. She moaned at the new pains joining the old. "Stop whimpering! You think I enjoy striking you? God, Christine I love you!"

"NO! You DON'T!" Her rage made her wounds scream in pain. "You have no idea what love is! Let me tell you something, I loved Erik long before you ever came back into my life! You lose! Now leave me be!" She turned on her heel and tried to run, but the long strap of the whip stopped her short. It coiled around her throat and tightened. She made a desperate choking noise and scrabbled at the lash with her nails, scoring her skin in the process. 

Raoul jerked the whip, hard enough to pull her a few inches backwards. "You're coming if I have to drag you by your throat!" His voice cracked in mindless fury and he tugged the whip again.

A red haze overcame Christine. With a savage scream, she whipped out the dagger she had concealed and leapt at him, swiping the blade across his left arm. Blood jetted from the wound and spattered her pale face. He roared and released the whip. Uncoiling it from her neck, she cracked it on the already panicked horse's flank. The animal reared and whinnied loudly, throwing its rider to the ground. He fell, grasping his bleeding arm, mewling in pain. Christine ran, leaving him writhing in the street.

Time was a luxury she no longer had. She had to get to Erik now.

--

Down below the streets of Paris, Erik's gloved hand reached out to light the tall candelabras. Hazy haloes of light began to fill the underground house. He floated through every room repeating the gesture until the entire house was glowing softly with tiny flames.

It was a day like any other, and yet, something in the air felt different. A storm had passed the day before, but it was something else. He couldn't place it, but he felt the need to make sure everything was perfect.

Extinguishing the match he held, he made his way into Christine's room and turned the gas up. It was the same as ever. He had been very careful to leave everything undisturbed. Even the little clips and pins on her vanity lay as she had left them. With reverent steps, he went to the large cherry wardrobe. He opened the doors and was greeted with a rush of sweet fragrance. Jasmine. He smiled nostalgically; she always wore jasmine. 

Quickly closing the doors so the fragrance wouldn't fade, he turned about, checking that everything was just right. Melissa paced between his feet, meowing loudly to get his attention. He smiled and scooped her up, scratching her tiny head lovingly.

"I hope you won't mind dear," he whispered as he exited the room, not bothering to lock it up. "We're going to have a houseguest someday, and you must share me with her." Melissa looked up at him quizzically and gave a disinterested mew. Erik laughed out loud. Sometimes it seems she could really understand him.

Sighing, he settled down on the sofa, placing Melissa on her cushion. She snuggled into the plush fabric and fell asleep very quickly, purring softly. Stifling a yawn, Erik finally realized just how little he'd been sleeping lately. He lay his head on the armrest and stretched out fully on the couch. Within minutes, he began drifting, Christine's lovely face filling his dreams.

--

Christine fell panting onto the black shore. The cool moisture of the caverns clung to her hair and she shivered from cold and terror. She didn't know how far behind Raoul was, but she wasn't going to wait around to find out.

Finally catching her breath, she bent and drank deeply from the lake. The icy water hit her stomach like a kick in the gut, but she was too parched to care. Stripping off her thin shoes, she trailed her tired feet in the shallows. She splashed it over her face, immediately revitalizing her tired mind. The coldness of the water made her eye throb, but she got to her feet and went silently to the boat. The mist was thick, but she knew behind it lay her home and the waiting arms of her Erik.

"Christine!"

She gasped at the sound of his voice. A soft light invaded the darkness down the stone staircase. He was coming.

"No…no!" She moaned, struggling to push the boat from the shore. At last it dislodged from the mock pier and sway into the water. With a furious push, she began to move across the lake.

"Christine stop! Don't you go to him!" Raoul cried, splashing into the water until it reached his knees.

"GET AWAY!" She shrieked, swinging the long pole around. It cracked him in the ribs and he crumpled into the water with a grunt of pain.

Christine began to breathe heavily, desperately struggling to ferry herself across. She wasn't nearly as strong as Erik by far, but her frustration and fear enhanced her strength and she soon found herself halfway across. The mist began to clear and finally she saw the large house. She was going to make it!

The thunderclap of the pistol echoed a hundred fold in the cavernous cellars, mingling in awful harmony with Christine's terrified scream.

--

Erik's head picked up, alert at once. Had he just heard that? It sounded vaguely like someone calling for Christine. It was so faint though, it had to be his mind playing tricks on him. Then he heard it again.

"Christine stop! Don't you go to him!"

Never in his life could Erik ever forget who owned that insufferable voice. The detestable sound had forever been branded into his brain. The boy had come. But if he was here, calling for Christine…

"GET AWAY!"

Christine! She was here! She'd come at last. His elation was dampened only by the terror in her voice. The boy was after her, trying to keep her from him. Erik ran to his room and grabbed his dagger and a pistol. If that boy interfered again, Erik would not hesitate in killing him.

Then, there was a tremendous noise that shook the very stones around them in its repercussions. Melissa leapt from the sofa, screeching like she'd been scalded. The sound was immediately followed by the most terrible screaming.

"Oh God…CHRISTINE!" he cried, racing towards the gate. Not watching where he was going, his foot snagged on part of the rug and he fell. A slice of pain licked through his side and he uttered a startled oath. He checked; damn fool he was he'd fallen on his own knife. But it was minor, and it was not the time to worry about it. The boy had fired his pistol and he had to make sure Christine was safe.

"If you value your soul boy, you'd better pray you didn't hit her!"

--

Christine teetered unsteadily in the boat, which now sported a very large hole. Water invaded the wooden floor. She tried to steady herself but the boat would sink no matter what she did.

"You bloody bastard! You could've killed me!" She screamed, half mad with rage.

"Last chance Christine! You'll drown unless you come back!"

"Not a chance in Hell!" She shouted and leapt into the water, letting the useless craft sink. The frigid water racked her body with pain and she cried out. Drawing a deep breath to clear her head, she began swimming frantically towards the house. She vaguely heard Raoul cursing as he too plunged into the water. Christine could feel herself growing weaker under the slashing cold pain, but at last she could see the gate, the rocky shore. Her bare feet touched land and she launched herself upon the shore. Gasping for air, she pounded wildly at the wrought-iron bars. 

"ERIK! ERIK! HELP ME! LET ME IN! ERIK!!" She grabbed the bars and shook them violently. She screamed louder and louder until she felt she could stand no more. She barely heard the creak of the gate as she pitch forward and into her angel's arms.

Erik gasped as she fainted in his arms. She was soaked to the bone and freezing and he almost wept when he touched her. A shouted curse emanated from the lake and Erik looked up amused. The viscount was hardly the swimmer and Erik leered as he aimed his pistol. The bullet sliced cleanly through the boy's right shoulder. He yelled in pain and scrambled back to the shore. There he stood, shaking his fist as if he considered himself a threat. Erik grimaced and leveled the gun again. A deafening crack ripped through the cold air and Raoul fell with a cry. He didn't move.

Christine groaned and opened her eyes. Towering over her was the most welcome sight she could have wished for; her Erik. She smiled shakily at him before her body gave in to the intense pain and she passed out. Erik forgot the gun and the boy and swept her into his arms. The gate clanged shut as he brought his poor love back into their home. 

--

THERE! Chapter 4 is finished! Didja like it? Didja didja didja? Hope so! Chapter 5 will be out soon, so in the meantime, R&R!!!


	5. To all my loyal readers

To all of my loyal readers:

I regret to inform you that I will be taking an indefinite break from my fanfictions. I am currently working on my novel and I need to focus all of my attention on it. I will leave my stories up for you to read because I really do appreciate all of your kind comments and endless encouragement. You all rock!

Truly, I remain,

Dawn Moon


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